True Friends
by thebutterfliesarewilting
Summary: True friends were the kind that would stick together until the end.


**a/n I guess this could be considered AU. And It's a little rushed and I'm sorry for that. Sorry if it's terrible. I hope someone likes it. Soo…read on!**

It was dark and stormy and honestly, I couldn't tell you why I was out here. It wasn't because I like the rain or because I was lost or anything like that. I was just out here, wondering. 'I really should get home.' I think to myself, but I'm not going home. Home is dangerous. Home is Hell.

You see, my parents, they aren't the type of parents that deserved praise. That doesn't mean they didn't get it, though. Nobody knew what they put me through, just me and my parents. They were just so perfect when people were around. It scared me, how easily they lie in front of other people.

I wish I could say that I was just exaggerating. You probably think I am. But I'm not. They scream and throw things and swing fists. Or they flat out don't do anything at all. I don't know which is worse. At least when I'm ignored I don't end up with cuts or bruises or broken bones. But when I'm beaten at least I get their attention.

It scares me that I'm trying to decide which one is better. That probably isn't healthy. But when have I ever been healthy? I've always been broken and battered. Some people might think I would be weak, going through that, and always returning. But I was stronger than them, stronger than they could ever hope to be. They would turn cold and resent the world, but I could still find good in people. I could still love.

Sure, I would flinch when someone would raise their hand, or cringe when I heard people yelling, but that doesn't matter. I could still be strong. I had the bad habits of lying to myself and being blatantly honest, and honestly, I don't know which was worse for me.

I wanted to go to Ponyboy's house. It was always warm and homey and comforting. Not like my house. But I would have to wait to go to his house, because they were probably having dinner right now. I don't like to be over when they have their meals, it isn't fair for them, they have enough mouths to feed as it is.

I stayed out there for as long as I could, until the cold finally got to me, and I had to go to the Curtis's. I soaking and shivering like crazy by the time I got to Ponyboy's house. I just walked in. No one ever just knocked. We don't need to.

It was about eleven. I was hoping no one was up, but Soda still was. He was sitting on the couch, with the TV buzzing quietly. He looked over at me and frowned and for a second I thought he didn't want me here, but then I remembered I was dripping wet.

"Why on Earth have you been outside in this weather? Why didn't you just go home when it started to rain?" He asked. I flinched. I don't what to tell him this. He was shuffling around for dry clothes, which he handed to me. I took them gratefully, happy for something warm. I was reluctant to change right there, my bruises would have given myself away. But I did, I figured, hey, it was dark; hopefully he won't be able to see them.

I shrugged out of my jean jacket, and slid out of my tee shirt. I heard Soda gasp, and I knew, he saw. He saw all the cuts and scars and marks and gashes. Everything was over. All of it was ruined. They would never have me over again, or look at me the same way or joke with me or spend time with me.

"Johnny? Johnny…what…who….Why didn't you tell us?" He sounded so confused, so hurt. I ruined Soda's smile. I seem to ruin everything I touch. How great.

"Tell you what? Tell you that everything I do is wrong. That if I come home too early I get a beating. Or if I come home too late, or I'm too loud or too quiet. That I flinch when people raise their hands or can't stand to hear people yell. Tell you that I hate booze. I hate booze so much, I can hardly stand to be around people with booze. Tell you that I can't remember the last time I didn't have some sort of reminder that my home is Hell, and my parents hate me. Is that what you want to hear? Because now you have it." I can't stand to look at him. I flop down on the couch, still without a shirt and sigh.

"I was scared, Soda. I was afraid you guys would just, I don't know, give up on me."

"Johnny…oh, Johnny. We could never do that. You're practically family. The gang doesn't give up on our family."

I stay quiet. I don't know what to say. No one has ever been so…nice to me.

I stand, grab my shirt and jacket and head for the door. "I should be going home now."

Soda grabs my wrist. "You aren't going home. It's freezing out. You will stay here. You can sleep in my old room. There are blankets and pillows in there. And make sure you change out of your clothes, or you'll catch pneumonia. But…first can I clean some of your cuts, some look like they might be infected." He sounded unsure of himself on the last bit, but I nod, and go back to sitting.

Soda grabs a first aid kit and kneels in front of me. He pulls out cotton swabs and peroxide. Soda tips the bottle upside down, with the cotton swab plugging it. He cleans my worst cuts, and even my little ones. It hits like hell, but I just grit my teeth. I've been through worse.

"There. All done." He says, and I smile, and go to change into the clean clothes.

"Soda, thanks."

"No problem, now go to bed. Goodnight."

"Night." I turn and walk into Soda's old room. I fall asleep quickly, and surprisingly, I sleep well for the first time in a long time. Maybe telling someone this would end up working well. Maybe I had some true friends now. Friends that stuck around 'til the end.


End file.
